


not too much (but maybe just enough)

by chalantness



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Ultimate Spider-Man (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-09 22:01:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7818889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chalantness/pseuds/chalantness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I can’t believe you just made a pick-up line out of me having to save you.”</p><p>“You love it.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	not too much (but maybe just enough)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jazziisms](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jazziisms/gifts).



> "spidertiger -- 5 times peter almost said 'i love you' to ava and the 1 time he does"
> 
> OKAY SO, I definitely tried to write it in 5 + 1, but the way I ended up pacing it actually fit a lot better as just a 4 + 1 instead so I hope you won’t be too upset that I cut it down by one. I think it read a lot better this way. I’ll make it up to you babe, I promise! Also, I dropped this into the cinematic ‘verse because I’m still super unfamiliar with Ava’s characterization and felt like this would maybe give me some room to breathe?

**one.**

This thing between them is new, even if the feelings have been there and they just didn’t know what to do with them. They still don’t, actually.

Well, _he_ still doesn’t, but of course Ava seems as confident as ever. He knew since the day they met that she was out of his league, but now that he knows it got them here, he’s glad that their class had been an odd number of students. It left him the only person to be her lab partner when she transferred in a month into the semester, and he probably never would’ve stood a chance with getting this intelligent, witty, _beautiful_ girl to even be his friend, let alone _like_ him, if she hadn’t been stuck with him. She used to joke about it in the beginning, back when he wasn’t quite sure if she was being sarcastic or genuine, but now she says it with this little flutter of her eyelashes and this bright, beautiful smile, and he knows he’s the luckiest guy in the world that she picked him of all people to like.

“Peter,” he hears when he’s at his locker, and he’s grinning like an idiot as he turns around to see Ava walking over to him. She had her hair in a ponytail earlier, because she was running late for school and it was “too much of a mess to deal with”, but now it’s down and falling in curls over her shoulders and he just wants to run his fingers through it. He’s not sure if that would be okay with her, though. He thinks it would be, but he doesn’t want to go too fast…

( _God_ , he’s hopeless.)

“Hey,” he greets, and heart sort of jumps in his chest when she takes his hand and laces their fingers together.

Then she frowns a little and he resists the urge to cringe. Is his hand sweaty? They haven’t held hands in school before and –

“Are you alright?” she asks, eyebrows furrowing adorably in concern. He manages a nod but she looks unconvinced. “You seem nervous.”

“I’m not,” he tries.

“You are.” She doesn’t sound upset, exactly; just confused. He doesn’t get to see her like this a lot – this cute little wrinkle in her forehead, her lower lip out almost in a pout, which she does sometimes when she’s thinking – and he’d enjoy it a lot more if she wasn’t staring at him like she can see right through him. Which he usually wouldn’t mind, because he likes how it feels for Ava to just _get_ him, but now that he’s nervous, it makes things feel worse. She blinks her eyelashes a few times and then something tugs at her expression that gives him the urge to hug her. “Do you… not want me to hold your hand?”

Her voice is softer, so soft that he almost doesn’t catch it over the chatter of students in the hallway. His heart swoops in his chest. “ _No_ , no!” he rushes out. “I mean, yes, I do want to hold your hand.” He squeezes it gently in emphasis and the worry in her expression eases away. He grins. “I always want to.”

“Peter,” she says, lips twitching into a smile. “Then why are you nervous?”

“Can’t exactly blame me.” He reaches with his free hand to scratch behind his neck, which he always does when he’s not sure what to do with himself, and he ends up hitting into his locker door, which he has yet to close. He cringes, but the little giggle she lets out relaxes him even more. “See? I’m – you know, _me_ – and you’re _you_ , and I’m worried that I’m going to do something stupid.”

“You probably will,” she teases, her expression bright again. He chuckles and shakes his head. “But when has that ever bothered you?”

“Well, everyone is watching. They know that you’re way too good for me.”

She rolls her eyes, still smiling. “Who cares what they think?” she says, like it’s just that simple. She sounds like she wants to laugh at him for worrying about it to begin with, and he wouldn’t mind if she did. He loves her laugh. “Well, you do sometimes, because you’re _a dork_ – ”

“ _Hey_.”

“– but I don’t, so neither should you.” She steps closer, stepping right into his space, and he feels his cheeks get warm. “Just care about me.”

Her voice is teasing, but he can hear the affection just underneath it. And maybe even a little of her own nerves, because now that they’re closer – close as can be, actually – he can tell these things about her. He can see all those little signs she gives him and only him, to let him know that she wants to be comforted but just doesn’t know how to ask for it. That she’s not always as sure of herself as she acts sometimes, and maybe she needs him to reassure her of his feelings as much as he needs it from her.

“I love…” he starts, feeling his heart fluttering in his chest, distracted by the sparkle in her eyes. She blinks, staring up at him, and _oh god._ Did he really just use the word “love” already? It just slipped out. He swallows, gripping onto her fingers a little tighter, and though she seems a little surprised, she squeezes his hand in response, urging him to go on. “I…” He breathes out a shaky laugh. “I love how easy it is with you,” he admits, his words stumbling out. He hopes that doesn’t sound as lame as he thinks it might’ve.

“I do, too,” she says, voice soft as she smiles, and he knows he’s grinning like an idiot when she brushes a kiss to his cheek, but he doesn’t care.

... ...

**two.**

He’s trying not to wince at the bruise on his side as he lets himself into the apartment, calling out a, “I’m home, Aunt May!” as he walks in. He can hear her laughing at something as she welcomes him home, and he ducks his face as he shrugs his backpack off of his shoulders, flinching at the pain that shoots down his side at the effort. He hopes this thing goes away fast. He can only act like he’s not hurting for so long before Aunt May clues into something being wrong. The last time he came home from a mission with a cut on his face, she _freaked out_ and he lied and said he nicked himself in the lab with a knife at school.

“We left some noodles for you on the counter, honey,” Aunt May tells him.

 _We?_ He pauses as he’s walking through the kitchen, looking over his shoulder to see –

Ava.

She’s sitting on the couch with Aunt May, a smile on her face, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes and _damn_. He’d told her that his aunt wasn’t feeling well and that’s why he couldn’t study with her, and he told Aunt May that he had something for school. Aunt May doesn’t seem mad at all, though, so maybe Ava didn’t tell her that he lied. He almost cringes. Even when she’s pissed at him she’s still willing to cover for him. That makes him feel like even more of a jerk.

“Ava came over because you forgot to tell her that my fever went away two days ago,” Aunt May says, getting up to give him a hug. “Honey, when you make plans, it might help to tell your girlfriend.” She laughs a little, ruffling his hair as she passes, and he mumbles, “Sorry,” as he meets Ava’s gaze.

She’s not pissed, he can tell. She’s _upset_.

“Do you kids want to study out here or in your room?” Aunt May asks.

“Um, my room,” he answers, watching as Ava grabs her bag off of the floor and heads for his room without a word. He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck.

“She doesn’t seem too upset that you forgot,” Aunt May reassures him, setting a hand on his shoulder as she holds out a plate of Chinese food for him. “She didn’t even mention it, so it’s probably not a big deal.” He cringes. Actually, her not mentioning it means that it’s definitely a big deal, and she just didn’t want to let Aunt May know that it was. If Ava wasn’t upset by it, she would’ve pretended like she was as a joke. Aunt May must notice his face, because she squeezes his shoulder in reassurance. “Just me your sweet self. It’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” he says weakly, leaning in when she goes to kiss his cheek. Then she gently pushes him towards the hallway and he grabs his backpack as he goes.

Ava is sitting cross-legged on his bed, not even so much as looking in his direction when he walks in, but she still reaches over and grabs his AP Biology textbook off of his desk to make room for his plate. He sets it down and slumps into his desk chair, glancing at her. She stares at the pile of clothes he has on the edge of his bed – laundry that he hasn’t folded and put away yet, because he’s been getting home late the last few nights.

“You lied,” she says after a moment, almost too quiet for him to catch. But he does, and his chest tightens a little.

“…Yeah.” He owes it to her to not pretend.

She meets his eyes, and she looks so _hurt_ that it makes him want to pull her in for a hug. She’d probably just push him away if he tried to right now, though. “Why?” she asks, eyebrows furrowing. “Where did you go that you couldn’t at least have told me about it? Where did you go that you got hurt?”

He blinks at this, surprised. “What?”

Her lips curve into a frown. “Stop trying to lie to me, Peter,” she says, and it sounds more like a plea than an actual demand. “I can tell that you’re hurt.” Her eyelashes flutter, and it’s the closest he’s seen her to actually crying, and he _hates_ it. “You act like you’re not at school, but did you think I wouldn’t notice the way you tense or flinch away if I lean into you? It’s not hard to figure out.”

“I’m fine.” He knows that’s as lame as it sounds, but it’s all he can bring himself to say. She seems like she’s more upset that he’s hurt than that he lied.

She’s way, way too good for him.

“No, you’re not. Let me see,” she insists, leaning over to reach for his jacket. He automatically starts to lean away, heart thumping in a panic at the thought of her seeing his injuries. “Peter,” she says softly, frowning a little more, and that’s all it really takes for him to cave. He scoots his chair closer, until he’s almost right next to her, and sort of holds his breath as she reaches for him again. She moves his jacket aside and grasps the hem of his shirt, lifting it away, fingertips ghosting over his skin and making it tingle, even as she pulls it high enough to reveal the bruise coloring over his rib. It’s bigger than he thought it was and it makes him cringe.

Ava lets out this sharp breath, eyes darting to his. “Who did this?”

“Ava – ”

“ _Who_ , Peter?” she demands.

“Just some jerk hitting on some girl,” he says. Just some Hydra agent who tried to hit Natasha. He wants to tell her. He really, really wants to. He slides off of the chair and onto the bed beside her, instead, curling his arms around her, and he feels relieved when she leans into him rather than away. She’s careful not to press against his bruise as she grips onto his shirt. “I’m sorry I lied to you.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asks, voice barely above a whisper.

“Because…” _I love you, and I don’t want you to worry._

Except of course she’s worried, because of course she found out on her own. He should’ve known that he couldn’t hide this from her for long.

_I love you, and I don’t want you involved, because I don’t want you to get hurt, too._

(He really, really wants to tell her that, too.)

“Because I’m an idiot,” he breathes out, closing his eyes when he hears this giggle burst from her lips, as if surprised.

He glances down to find her staring up at him with this small smile. “You can’t play that card and expect me to find it cute every time,” she says, her tone a little lighter now, but still weighed with worry. He chuckles and brushes a kiss to her forehead, hearing her hum, leaning into him a little more. “I was worried.”

“I’m sorry,” he says again.

She presses her face into his shoulder. “If anyone hurts you, Peter Parker, I’m going to kick their ass,” she mumbles, and he laughs and hugs her closer.

(He’s so relieved that he doesn’t really notice that she didn’t try asking why he’d gotten hurt in the first place, or why he’d lied to her.)

(That probably should’ve been his first clue.)

... ...

**three.**

When his vision blurs into focus, the first thing he sees is her – her face hovering inches above his, her hair in this elegant mess of a ponytail that’s starting to fall out of the elastic, a bit of blood smudged onto her cheek. His stomach curls at the sight, even though her white suit doesn’t seem to be covered in anything other than a little dirt, so obviously it’s not _her_ blood.

Still, he reaches up to brush his thumb across her cheek, the tightness in his chest easing a little when he feels that there isn’t a cut underneath.

“ _You reckless idiot_ ,” she breathes, voice quivering as she presses her face into his neck. He barely notices the way her weight presses into the cut on his thigh, because all he can focus on is _her_ – her warmth, her touch, her tears wetting his skin. He feels like he should be surprised (and he was when her mask had first come off) but mostly he just feels relieved. She _saved_ him and almost got hurt doing so.

Not that he’s in any position to argue.

He glances over her shoulder at Natasha and Steve, kneeling on either sides of him. They both look relieved, but he doesn’t miss the amusement in their eyes.

He feels his cheeks warm as he glances back at Ava, lifting a hand up to run it through the her hair, like he’s done dozens and dozens of times. Her shaking eases ever so slightly at his touch, and she lifts her head to peer down at him. Maybe it’s a little wrong, but she looks pretty like this, with her cheeks flushed and her eyelashes dotted with tears and her hair sort of falling in her face. He smiles and tucks some of her hair behind her ear. “White Tiger, huh?” he asks.

She breathes out a laugh. “Took you long enough,” she says, leaning into his palm when he cups her cheek.

“How long have you known my secret, then?”

“Longer than you think.” She grins. “I’ll admit I was touched when you insisted on telling White Tiger about how head over heels you are for your girlfriend.”

His stomach flutters as he lets out a groan, lip tugging into a smile when he hears her laugh. He may or may not have rambled a bit about Ava when he’d had his first few encounters with White Tiger. He thinks that maybe it’s not so bad admitting how much he was wrapped around her finger and didn’t mind it one bit, if the way Ava is looking at him now is anything to go off of.

“What can I say? I can’t live without you.”

She _laughs_ and shakes her head, gripping onto him a little tighter. “I can’t believe you just made a pick-up line out of me having to save you.”

“You love it,” he says, smoothing his thumb over her cheek.

“I do,” she breathes, and somehow, he knows she means a little more than just that.

 _I love you, too_.

... ...

**four.**

He doesn’t realize he’s been staring (again) until he feels someone nudge his arm, and he looks over to see Steve grinning at him as he sits down on Ava’s empty lounge chair. “She’s beautiful,” he says, nodding at where Ava is sitting with Natasha on the steps of Tony and Pepper’s pool, the water coming to their waists. Her hair is still soaked from when Natasha had tackled her into the deep end, and now she has it twisted up with an elastic. She’s probably going to make him brush all of the tangles out later, but he doesn’t mind. He’s always had a thing for her hair, anyway.

“She’s always been beautiful,” Peter says, warmth spreading in his chest when Natasha says something that makes Ava tip her head back and laugh.

“Things are good between you?” Steve asks.

Peter smiles a little wider. “Things are great,” he says, which sounds pretty pathetic, he knows. It hardly covers their relationship at all, and he’s starting to think that only one word could really describe how much he feels for Ava, and how intensely. Only one word could come close to describing the feeling he gets when she scrunches her nose at him when he says something ridiculous that she actually thinks is cute, or when he comes home to find her and Aunt May chatting in the kitchen while they make dinner, or when she wraps her arms around his torso and buries herself into this little ball on his chest. He’s seen her sweaty from training, and all dolled up for Stark Industries charity dinners, and bundled up in blankets before bed, and he loves every part.

He loves _her_.

“You should tell her,” Steve says, amusement touching his tone, and it takes Peter a moment longer than it should to meet his eyes. Steve’s smile widens a little more, like he knows exactly what that means. “How you feel,” he adds.

“I’ve told her.”

Steve grins. “I mean, you should _tell her_. Tell her all of it.”

Peter swallows, fidgeting in his lounge. “Do you… I mean, isn’t it too early?”

“No.” Steve says it simply, easily, and yeah. It technically should be that easy.

Of course Peter has thought about it. He thinks about it all the time, actually. But they’re still young. He knows that sometimes it doesn’t feel like it because of what they do outside of school, but they’re still _in_ school – high school, even – and he doesn’t just want her to be some high school crush, or a really good first girlfriend. He wants her to be more, wants _them_ to be more, and he doesn’t want to rush into it and ruin what they have.

Steve chuckles, glancing over at Natasha. His entire expression shifts ever so slightly as soon as his eyes land on her, and Peter smiles when he sees it.

“If you love her, she deserves to know,” Steve tells him. “You can always figure things out from there if it’s too early. You can still make it work.” He shrugs his shoulders. “You don’t always get that kind of chance if it’s too late. Sometimes you just miss it entirely. That’s harder to bounce back from.”

Peter turns to look at Ava again, something tugging at his chest.

“When do I tell her?” he asks. “When is it the right time?”

“You’ll know it when it happens.”

Peter almost frowns at that answer, practically hearing the smirk in Steve’s voice, but before he can start to respond, Ava glances across the backyard and meets his eyes, smiling, and Peter feels his heart skip. She says something to Natasha before standing up and climbing out of the pool, sunlight glistening off of her skin as she drapes her towel over her shoulders and heads for him. Steve stands from the lounge chair, patting Peter’s shoulder before walking towards Natasha, and he says something to Ava as they pass each other that makes her laugh. Peter’s pulse quickens at the sound of it, and then she’s ducking under the shade of his umbrella and he’s reaching for her as she settles onto his lap.

“You don’t want to swim anymore?” she asks.

“Nah,” he answers, rubbing a hand over the small of her back, relishing in the way she hums softly at his touch. “I’m good right here.”

He’s trying to say more – he _wants_ to say more – but he can’t quite get the words out. It’s not because he’s nervous, though. Somehow, he can tell that it’s just not the right time yet. Still, she pauses, eyebrows furrowing ever so slightly as she holds his gaze.  She can tell that he means something else. Maybe she doesn’t know it (or, like him, doesn’t know how to handle it) but she can still tell.

So there’s a flutter of relief in his chest when she gives him this soft, bright smile in return. “So am I.”

... ...

**plus one.**

He can hear her voice drifting from the kitchen, making him smile as he blinks his eyes open, squinting against the morning sunlight filtering in through the window. His skin is still tingling from the night before, still burning from her kiss and her touch and her warmth, and it makes him grin up at his ceiling like an idiot before he turns to bury his face into his pillow. It mostly smells like that perfume that Natasha had helped him pick out for her birthday, but he under that can still smell a little bit of her vanilla shampoo that he loves, the one she’s been using ever since they met. It’s just _her_ scent, and he remembers how it had distracted him that day she transferred. That day that changed his whole world.

He hears her padding softly across the hardwood as she makes her way back to his bedroom (she’s quiet, but he’s just good at listening for her), so he smiles a little wider when she gently pushes the door open. She must be able to tell that he’s awake already, because she climbs onto the bed and moves on top of him to straddle his hips above the blanket, and he breathes out a laugh and rolls his head to look up at her. Her hair is a beautiful mess of curls cascading down her shoulders, and she’s wearing the Spider-Man shirt that Natasha had bought him as a joke for Christmas. It makes him smile.

“Good morning,” she greets, bracing her hands on his chest as she leans over and kisses him.

“Morning,” he mumbles back against her lips, gripping her hips a little.

Her hair falls all around them, and when she pulls away, she blinks her long eyelashes at him and gnaws on her lower lip. He remembers her giving him this same look last night and a warmth spreads in his chest as he looks at her.

“God, I just…” He breathes out a laugh. “I love you.”

She flashes a smile, leaning forward to brush her lips to his chest, right above his heart. “Good, because I love you, too.”


End file.
